


Songs of the People

by KestrelShrike



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Drabble, Early Relationship, F/M, Fluff, One Shot, Romance, Song - Freeform, prompt, prompt request, romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2015-04-28
Packaged: 2018-03-26 03:10:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3834811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KestrelShrike/pseuds/KestrelShrike
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anonymous prompt: Abelas singing an old elvish song to Lavellan.</p>
<p>As always, all credit for the elvish goes to fenxshiral and Project Elvhen. I am sure he is very tired of me tagging him haha. I did debate making this NSFW, but… All translations at the end of the story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Songs of the People

Shiral had done so much for Abelas, and in return, he felt he had neglected her. In the face of his own personal demons, he forgot that she had her own, and that they ate away at her. Her humor could only hide it for so long. At night, she sometimes cried out in her sleep, and while Abelas longed to comfort her, their relationship was still too fresh. They paced around each other like nervous foals, suddenly all legs when they got close. When they touched, it was with a sense of secrecy that bordered that farcical, as if no one could see them, as if eyes were not on the Inquisitor at all times. 

The most obvious eyes were hidden, for now. Beneath the trees, their shoulders relaxed, tension easing. His back against a broad trunk, Abelas slid down until he sat, legs spread out before him, eyes shut and face turned upward to the rays of sun that broke through the canopy. He extended a hand to Shiral, saw the way she scanned the environment to make sure it was safe. Had he grown so complacent that it did not occur to him to do the same? Or perhaps the Inquisitor was simply overly cautious. Either way, she seemed to deem it safe enough, gratefully folding herself downward. An idea grew in her mind until she could not ignore it, and much to the surprise of both Abelas and herself, Shiral lay her head in his lap. Here she felt safe and comforted, enough that her eyes closed as a sleepy smile overtook her face, transforming Andruil’s vallaslin into something much softer and more delicate. 

“There was a song my people used to sing, long ago. It’s a silly thing, a collection of phrases.” His fingers wound through her long hair, passively combing it, feeling each individual strand. It was not silky; it had been roughened by time and weather and lack of washing. For all that, it retained its color, silver with just a hint of gold, the palest blonde that was possible. 

“I would like to hear it.” Shiral kept her eyes closed, allowing herself the pleasure of someone playing with her hair, of fingers that were deft and knew what they were doing. A sigh of contentment came from her as she relaxed marginally more. The worry that hounded her had abated. 

“Ga haur te'lea  
Es'an ehn shia ga te'laim  
Shan ea soun tel'banafelasa  
Bre'gen'adahl ea tel'dera i'eireth  
Ise juthen o genise  
U'lea o bane jushen  
Danem'mis tuemah'sal   
Es o tel'tiara ea ha'raj sal.” His voice was rough, but not unpleasant. His vowels moved up and down, carrying the tune well. It had been so many years since he had sung, and so many more since he had sung them to a lover. 

“Mar lah ina’lan’ehn.” Your voice is beautiful. Her eyes peeked open, locking on his own. Gold and blue met, until Shiral felt a blush reach her cheeks and she turned away just a fraction. She had slain demons and halted revolutions, but she had not lain beneath the trees with the sound of a voice twining around her. 

Abelas inclined his head, brushing his lips to meet hers. It was an awkward position, but one they held, lips caressing. Even when they broke apart, they both held still for a moment, their breath mingling. 

“‘Ma’av’in,” she whispered. 

“‘Ma’sal’shiral,” he returned.

**Author's Note:**

> The song is The Riddle of Strider, from the Lord of the Rings. 
> 
> All that is gold does not glitter,  
> Not all those who wander are lost;  
> The old that is strong does not wither,  
> Deep roots are not reached by the frost.  
> From the ashes a fire shall be woken,  
> A light from the shadows shall spring;  
> Renewed shall be blade that was broken,  
> The crownless again shall be king
> 
> Ara av’in / ‘Ma’av’in: My mouth. A very personal and slightly sexual endearment. The meaning is essentially, “I love you so much, and desire you so much, that my mouth tastes like yours.” But also means, “We understand each other on such a personal level, that you could talk for me.”
> 
> Ara sal’shiral / ‘Ma’sal’shiral: My life. Essentially, “Love of my life,” or “You are my soul’s journey.”


End file.
